Observation Point and Friends

I hadn't been to Observation Point since 2018. At the time, there was a really awesome trail that started at the canyon floor and zig-zagged up through the cliffs all the way to the top. Adventurous, scenic, passing through Echo Canyon and offering tremendous views along the way, this was one of my favorite trails of all time. Easily the best trail in the park, that's for sure. But not long after we visited, a big ol' landslide took out a good chunk of that trail, closing it for the time being. And then, about a year later, another landslide pretty much finished it off, closing it for the foreseeable future, perhaps forever. Quite the travesty indeed. 

Fortunately, there exist other ways to reach Observation Point, although none of them are nearly as scenic as the old trail from the canyon floor. One way involves a really long hike from the East Rim Trailhead, the other a short seven mile roundtrip jaunt from the East Mesa Trailhead. I'd already walked a good chunk of the East Rim Trail when I checked out Cable Mountain back in late April, plus I'm super lazy and on the afternoon of May 2nd I was in an especially lazy mood so I figured, ehh, I'll take the short route. And so I stopped at a deli after work and nabbed me a sandwich and some junk chips and drove on into Zion National Park for the nth time, driving up through the tunnel, out past the east entrance, through the Ponderosa Ranch Resort and down a 4wd road towards the easy route for Observation Point. 

There were hardly any vehicles in the parking lot, which was strange since it was a beautiful Saturday afternoon. I began walking on the trail, the thing nice and wide and fairly flat, numerous pines offering ample shade, the lighting delicate and soft. Not a whole lotta views. Just a nice walk through the woods.

After a while, I saw some use trails snaking off to the right, all of 'em leading to Mystery Canyon no doubt. I followed one for a bit and was gifted with a view of said canyon, the thing deep, sheer, brushy. And then I got it in my mind to check out a minor summit just off to the side, the unassuming "Blew By Peak." Barely noticeable, many people blow right on by this thing on the way to Observation Point. Not me. No sir. I was gonna see what was up there. I knew there'd probably be absolutely nothing, but you never know. 

And so I left the use trail and trudged up through manzanita and cacti and a whole other assortment of lovely, prickly bushes, walking in a straightish line towards the summit. And what a summit. Golly, what a place. Wide, flat, brushy, a noticeable highpoint nowhere to be found. Yep. No surprises there. Looked exactly how I imagined.  But I wandered around for a few more moments, still in search of a high point of sorts, jumpin' through manzanita, hoppin' over the occasional patch of cryptobiotic soil. Couldn't find nothing. Oh well. I ducked under a rugged pine tree and bushwhacked back to the trail.

Observation Benchmark

Back on the trail, I noticed a small bump just to the north of Observation Point, the unpretentious "Observation Benchmark." Despite its small stature, it was more of a "summit" than Blew By Peak, so I figured I might as well give it a looksie. I moseyed on over to the top, following a use trail most of the way, the thing a wee bit steep in spots but nothing too crazy. There were two USGS benchmarks on the summit, one marking the high point and the other situated a little ways off to the side. It was at this 2nd benchmark where the best views could be seen, mostly of the northern part of Zion Canyon. 

I sat. I gazed. I absorbed the scenery. Nothin' but rugged, rugged country. That's all there is to say. Rugged, rugged country. I know I've said that a lot on this blog, but what else is there to say of Zion Canyon? Looking north, down into the thin, dark, shadowy Narrows, up into the wilderness, cliffs and canyons and sheer drop-offs and crazy bushes clingin' to the crumbly sandstone walls and inaccessible mountains and pinnacles and bumps and knobs, flat and brushy mesa tops, blocky caps, bright colors, red and white and green. How else to describe such a place? 

A view from Observation Benchmark

And I sat there for a bit and soaked in the views, gazing out upon the West Rim, noting the peaks over there, looking down into the Narrows, wondering how many people were in there right now with their phones in their hands taking pictures of literally everything and then getting distracted and falling in the river and ruining all their electronics and just having a jolly bad time. And then I got up, brushed off my shorts, and finally made my way to the main destination of the day: Observation Point.

The famous view from Observation Point

Yep. Looked exactly how I remembered it in 2018. Hadn't changed a bit. It's easily one of the best views in the entire park, and unless you wanna scramble up a sketchy route to a crazy summit you really can't see a view of similar caliber. Probably the best bang for your buck if you ask me. 

I sat down, drank some water, the sandwich and junk chips long since devoured on the lenghty drive to the trailhead. Only one other person was there and they soon turned back, satisfied with the million pictures they'd taken. And so I had a rare moment of solitude, enjoying Observation Point all by my lonesome, nothing but the sound of the wind meeting my ears. And then I heard panting and these two trail runners showed up and they went "wow" and I went "yep" and then I got up, took one last look at the view, and made my way back to the car.

Blew By Peak wasn't sittin' right in my mind and so I got the idea to visit it again on the way back, this time with the goal to find a high point at all costs. And so I ducked off the trail and bushwhacked about 300ft up to the summit, a much easier route than my first choice from the use trails for Mystery Canyon. And I got to the top and poked around and wouldn't you know it, I found me a booklet in a glass jar. Why such an unassuming peak such as this would have a summit register, I have no idea. I sat down, opened it up, and read what was inside.

Blew By Peak summit register

Where I found it

Placed in 2018, the thing only had 17 entries. Mine made it 18. I closed it up, got up, took one last look, figured I'd probably never return to this place, and then made my way back to the trail. Along the way, I checked out those use trails for Mystery Canyon yet again, this time finding a spot in the shade to sit and enjoy the commanding views of the Zion Backcountry. Maybe someday I'll check out Mystery Canyon, but I certainly ain't what you'd call a "canyoneer" and I have have absolutely zero rope experience, so, we'll see...

Mystery Canyon

Once I'd had my fill, I got up and continued back down the trail, the afternoon growing long, the trees casting tall shadows. Because I'm an idiot, I decided to check out one more peak on the way back, the extremely inconspicuous "Peak 6645." The thing was so unnoticeable that I didn't even see it on the way out to Observation Point. Didn't even know where it was, really. Kinda had to guess. I saw a rise off through the bushes and trees and simply assumed it to be the peak, so I busted through brush over to the top, the thing wide, flat, covered in ceanothus and scrub oak and manzanita and pinyon pines. And I wandered around, trying to find a "high point," found nothing, and then made my way through the brush over to a view of sorts, the sunlight glowing off the white sandstone cliffs in the distance, the day coming to a close.

A seldom seen view from "Peak 6760"

It wasn't until after I got home that I realized I'd reached "Peak 6760" instead of "Peak 6645," but it doesn't really matter. I'm sure the latter doesn't look much different. I'd received my brush buffet and so I felt satisfied. Not really, but I definitely felt something, most likely the numerous scratches and cuts on my arms and legs. Ahh man. Why do I do the things I do. 

Back at the trailhead, in the car, down the road, driving through the country. There was still some daylight left, so I decided to check out just one more peak for the day, the curious Separation Peak out on the East Rim. Situated between Nippletop and Crazy Quilt Mesa, this little nubbin can barely be seen from the road; it's just a small, diminutive, crumbly-lookin' knob of white sandstone. I drove back through the east entrance of the park and found a pullout along the side of the road, the peak rising in the distance, most of it shrouded in shadow. Seemed like I'd get to the top right at sunset. Perfect. It was a done deal. I got out, shut the door, hopped down into a canyon, and then began a slow ascent on slickrock and slabs towards the base of this most curious summit.

Separation Peak

Lookin' back from where I came...

I took a direct line to the summit, something I don't recommend as there was numerous brush to contend with along the way. My advice is to stick to the wash. Not only is there no brush, it's also wayyy more scenic. But I'd picked my line and I was gonna take it, and I bushwhacked straight to the base of the peak, clambering up to the summit from the northwest. 

Easy going for the most part, I soon encountered some fun, downward facing class 3 slabs just beneath the summit, an unexpected yet exciting final obstacle. I scurried on up the slabs lickety-split, reaching the summit just as the sun dipped below Nippeltop to the west, casting the entire peak and the surrounding area in shadow, the evening nice and cool, dusk fast approaching. 

Class 3 just beneath the summit

Nippletop

The views were pretty dang good, especially from such a little nubbin' such as this. Lookin' south revealed more of the slickrock paradise of the east rim, the "Point of Compassion" visible in the distance, Parunuweap Canyon far below, the thing inaccessible, off-limits, wild, free. Lookin' north revealed bits and bobs of the east rim, Aires Butte and South Ariel Butte visible in the distance, two huge monoliths of white sandstone. I lingered for a few minutes, enjoying the silence, my mind empty, only focused on what it was witnessing in the moment. And then I waved goodbye to the scene, scrambled off the summit, and began the short hike back to the car, this time taking the wash on the way back. 

North

South

Rising shadows, darkening skies. The toads were out. Loud things. Very loud. Them's were causing quite the racket. And I walked down the wash and there were pools in the sandstone, and every time I looked into one the frogs would shut up and scatter, dipping beneath the dark water, hiding from my inconsiderate gaze. I don't blame them. They were mating after all. Needed their privacy. 

So I avoided the pools and the toads started their racket again, and the whole evening was full of their screechin' and croakin', and I butt-scooted back into the canyon and hiked up to the pullout and drove on out of the park, the sun long gone, the day finished. 

It was nice to finally get back to Observation Point after all these years. It's a good spot, one I'm sure to visit again sometime in the future. It's a shame that awesome trail from the canyon floor is still closed though. That thing was the real deal. 

A Long Walk on the East Rim

A lazy morning. Prostrate in bed. Nothing going on, nothing planned. Seconds turning to minutes, minutes to hours. Still in bed. Comfy bed. Cozy bed. Don't wanna get out. But I must, I must. And I lurch out of bed with a creak and a snap and I hobble into the kitchen and eat some oatmeal or something. Maybe throw in some peanut butter. I don't know. I ain't no gourmet. 

Nearly noon, the sun nice and bright, daytime splendor all around. Outside that is. Inside it is dark. Gotta go outside. Gotta touch the light. 

I grabbed the pack, threw in some peanuts and a granola bar and these mediocre dried apple rings. Don't really know why I bought them. Perhaps the packaging appealed to some backwater section of my brain, to the rarely used conglomerate of misfired neurons and musty gray matter just chillin' in my skull, its sole purpose of existence to take up space and use precious resources without giving anything in return. Or maybe it was my stomach's fault. I don't know. Couldn't let those rings go to waste though. Had to eat those suckers.

Outside, in the car, driving down the road. Cars pass by, motorcycles zoom on through, and hey, look, a big ol' dead deer on the side of the road. Sunny, sunny, sunny. Outstanding weather. Fabulous lighting. A lovely day. A lovely day that was nearly half over. Oh well. That's what happens when you lay in bed all morning.

Still driving, the tires rolling silently on the blacktop. Into Springdale, into Zion National Park, the canyon walls high, the coloration on the cliffs infinitely fascinating. Up the road, behind a big ol' camper. Yep. Gonna be stuck at the tunnel for a while. And I stop at the tunnel and stare at the back of the camper and wait for about 15 minutes and four, yes, FOUR RVs come through on the other side, one after the other after the other, all of 'em the same make and model and color. Perhaps the drivers knew each other. A color-coordinated family extravaganza. Or maybe it was all just a big coincidence and they were all strangers and they were simply lined up, one after the other, by some cruel twist of fate. Oh the endless possibilities...how can one be bored in this life? There's always something funky going on. Just gotta know where to look. 

Through the tunnel, out the other side, cars lined up on the side of the road, each one parked so close to the other the whole thing looked like one gigantic metallic centipede. And the camper pulled off the side of the road and I drove on, trying to get to the East Rim Trail. And I pulled off the side right next to the East Entrance and hit up the outhouse and then wandered around, trying to find the trailhead. Walking, walking, walking. It's a wonderful thing. Gets you where you need to go, one way or another.

And I walked on down the road and up to the East Rim Trailhead and just as soon as I started I realized I forgot to display my dang pass. Oops. Had to turn around. And so I walked on back to the car, drove it over to the proper trailhead, parked in the dirt, displayed my pass, chugged some water, said something like "alright, lets do this for real" and then set off down the trail. It was ten minutes after 12pm. Heck yeah. Just the way I like it...

I wanted a long walk. A long walk through the woods. Craved the mileage. Yearned for fatigue. Ain't gone on a long walk in a long time. It needed to happen. Ten minutes after noon on a Tuesday the day after summiting Jobs Head seemed like the best opportunity. Ok, maybe not the best opportunity, but it was something and I was dang diddly dang gonna dang diddly take it.

Left foot, right foot, walking walking walking. Bright colors. Everything illuminated. Tiny flowers. Green shrubbery, white sandstone, wispy breeze. Springtime in the high desert. What a lovely thing. Unlike chafing. Chafing is not a lovely thing. But it happens. Especially when you wear boxer shorts on a long hike in the woods. 

They started rubbing pretty good about four miles in. Stated rubbin' even better after another two. And so I jumped off the trail and took 'em off and shoved 'em in the pack and walked around commando. And I walked like a cowboy in the old wild west, my knees pointed slightly outward, my legs slightly bent. Not the most comfortable hiking position, but it got the job done.

And others were out and about, people out there for the day, people out there for a few days, a mixture of day hikers and backpackers and trail runners and the like. And I passed a few of them and they passed me and we all said hello or gave a nod and performed the customary unwritten trail etiquette expected of all outdoor travelers.

Growing shadows, shifting winds. I walked straight to Cable Mountain, following the signs as I went, stopping when the trail terminated in cliffs. An old wooden structure stood tall and weathered; the remains of a logging operation that brought wood from the top of the rim down to the canyon floor. Apparently that's how the Zion Lodge was built. But it don't matter. The thing burned down in the 60's. 

Everything is ephemeral. All for naught, naught for all. All that effort, all that work, the clearing of the forest, the sea of stumps, all of it for one big fire to make it all meaningless. But that was a long time ago. The trees have come back. The lodge, rebuilt. All that remains are a few bits and bobs from the past. I sat underneath the old wooden structure, the thing merely a skeleton. All it's good for now is shade. 

Munchin' on peanuts, munchin' on those apple rings. Crikey, those things ain't good at all. Even in my hungered state they still managed to—as the kids these days say—give me the ick. And icky they were. Nice and warm in my pack, the things were limp and a little moist, tasting a wee bit like vomit in the back of the throat. I forced 'em down, washing out the taste with peanuts and water and the sweet crispiness of that most excellent granola bar. 

But at least the views were nice. Angels Landing, Big Bend, Observation Point. I could see cyclists down below, see all the E-bikers, see the tiny shuttle moving down the thin line of the road like a beetle on a blade of grass. I moved closer to the edge, sat down, dangled my legs. Yep. That was nice. Always gotta dangle the legs. It's one of those things you just have to do.

And then it was time to go and I walked and walked and walked, burping up apple rings the whole way, the taste still in my throat, yucky, yucky, yucky. And then I decided to check out Big Cable Mountain, a wide, flattish mound rising just a smidge off the trail. And I walked through brush and dirt and sticks and I got to the top and you know what? Ain't nothing up there. Not a darned thing. 

Dirt and plants. That's it. I stood for a bit, walked around, tried to find a high point of some kind, wandered some more, and then made my way back to the trail. Nothing much going on up there. Lots of brush, lots of manzanita and ceanothus, a smattering of pines, a sprinkle of sheep dookie. Very interesting stuff for some folks. But not for me. Kinda gave me the same vibe as those apple rings. Or maybe it was just that I was burpin' them up like crazy by that point. I don't know. Tomato, tomahto. 

Back on the trail, I hit a junction, making a right towards Deertrap Mountain. And this trail was a lot more thin and a little more "out there" or at least that's just the vibe I got from it. Sun gettin' lower now, the breeze still kickin', the colors shifting to their afternoon setting, grass everywhere, shrubs everywhere, one foot after another, still walkin' like a cowboy, my choice of going commando not really working so great anymore.

And then I left the trail and started bushwhacking up to what is known as "Scarlet Begonias." A brushy little summit, this thing actually had pretty decent views of the East Rim. And I didn't play the Grateful Dead song at the top 'cause it never crossed my mind; too busy trying to figure out why the name "Scarlet Begonias" was chosen for this peak in the first place. No scarlet, no begonias anywhere to be found. No flowers to be found of any kind for that matter. Just scraggly pines, hardy cactus and lots and lots of rocks and dirt. Personally, I woulda named this peak "Brushy Hob Knobblin" but I guess "Scarlet Begonias" is a prettier name. 

Aries Butte, Nippletop from "Scarlet Begonias"

 

A view from "Scarlet Begonias"

And I munched on more of those disgusting apple rings and finished the peanuts and chugged most of my water and then began the long, long, long trek back to the car. And the miles disappeared underfoot, one after the other. And the afternoon grew long and the shadows longer and soon I was walkin' in the shade for the most part, things coolin' off, the day wrapping up. And I was sick and tired of walkin' like a cowboy and so I hopped off the trail for the second time and took off the pants and said "Aww man" and my thighs were nice and pink and I put on the ol' boxer shorts and kinda just thugged it out the whole rest of the way back. 

Twenty-two miles. Six hours, twenty-five minutes, fifty-one seconds. Didn't see a single person on the way back. Had the whole trail to myself. And the parking lot was empty and I sat around with the windows down for a bit, my hair all gross and sweaty, my eyes staring in the distance and seeing nothing. I had gotten exactly what I was lookin' for. Lots of miles, lots of fatigue. I was able to enjoy the afternoon, make something out of the day. Coulda done without the chaffing, but there's always something that's gotta be added to the mix just to spice things up. That's just the way it goes. 

Bits and Pieces along the KTR

 4/20/26

What to do, what to do. The days had spilled into each other, a Wednesday no different than a Saturday, all of them busy busy busy. And then it was the weekend and it caught me unawares and there were groceries to buy and laundry to fold; just a whole assortment menial errands that by themselves don't amount to much but, when combined, really destroy a whole day. I had just completed such errands and found myself with only a few hours of daylight remaining. Ahh, what to do, what to do. Lay in bed? Stare at the sun? Play tiddlywinks with the stinkbugs down by the river? Had to do something. But what? And then it hit me: why not drive up the KTR and wander around aimlessly for a bit? Yep. That'll do the trick. And so I grabbed a pack and some water and set off up the KTR, no specific itinerary in mind other than a vague desire to wander around in the woods and climb something awesome. 

Onward and upward, the road curving this way and that, scenic, high desert scenery coming into view. Red rocks, green trees, emerald grass, blue skies, puffy white clouds, windows down, the breeze blowin' through the car, on and on and on. And then I found me a pullout I ain't ever stopped at and pulled over and grabbed the pack and started wandering.

I'd driven by this pullout numerous times on my way to the Wildcat Canyon Trailhead. Always saw people parked there and had always wondered...why. What's out there? What could be so very interesting, so captivating, so alluring that one would pull off the side of the road and wander off-trail to go and see it? I had to find out.

The only thing that came to mind was a large formation called "Jobs Head," a big, crumbly mound of crazy red sandstone rising high above the pines, clearly visible from the road. I decided to wander towards this behemoth, rambling along through the slickrock and sand, the pines silent, the air still. And I entered a creek of sorts and rock-hopped for a bit and then got tired of that and left the creek and bushwhacked a bit and kinda just wandered along, heading in a somewhat straight line to Jobs Head. And there was a group of three having a late lunch (or early dinner) in the shade of some pines and I waved to them and they waved back and then we never saw each other again.

And I started heading up, up, up, climbing through prickly bushes and manzanita, skirting the east side of Jobs Head, trying to find a more agreeable way to reach its summit. And then I found a steep little gully that led to a saddle, the thing full of dead pine needles and an old dead tree and rocks and sticks and shrubs and not a single trace of recent human visitation. And I reached the saddle in a huff and a puff and gazed at the north ridge and said "Oh yeah" and I knew that this was gonna be a good one. 

Proceeding along the North Ridge

I proceeded along, the rock okay for what it was, a little crumbly, but hey—that was expected. And I kept things class 2/3 for a bit, wandering along the ridge, skirting to the west when I could in order to avoid crazy terrain. And then I started climbing up some funky stuff, ducked under a pine, moseyed on over to the east side of the ridge, walked along a fairly exposed class 2 ledge, and then encountered the first major obstacle of the day. 

The first major obstacle

A large chute had to be surmounted, the holds great but the going very very steep. Not wanting to climb up stuff I didn't need to climb, I hugged a wall and moseyed up over a bush and traversed into the chute from there, keeping things class 3. Once in the chute, it was an enjoyable scramble up to a notch, the breeze picking up a bit, the sky a crystal blue, the pines gently swaying down below, the afternoon nice and easy and relaxed. Oh yeah. That's what I'm talkin' about. That's what it's all about.

The second obstacle

At the top of the notch was the second obstacle of the day, perhaps the crux of the route. It wasn't too steep or technically challenging, but the rock quality was exceptionally poor. Lousy lousy nonsense; just a bunch of downward facing, brittle, crumbly, class 3 slabs with a sprinkle of exposure added to the mix. No good. I probably broke off seven pieces on my way up. But at least it was brief and I was soon past it and I wrapped around to the east again, now facing one final obstacle inhibiting my quest to the summit. 

The final obstacle

This was by far the steepest part of the whole trek, definitely class 3/4. But the holds were great and the rock quality was far better than the crumbly nonsense I'd just passed a bit farther down the ridge. Up, up, up and away I went, surpassing this final obstacle, the breeze nice and cool, the afternoon sun hitting everything just right. And I was greeted with a view of a very crumbly false summit so I wrapped around to the west, avoiding all that silliness. And then, finally, ahh yes, there it was—the true summit in all its glory.

Jobs Head summit

And I scurried up there in a jiffy, the rock quality a little horrible in the final stretches (more of those god-awful downward facing, brittle, crumbly sandstone slabs). And I threw down my pack and spun around, the views excellent, the air nice and crisp, everything vibrant and green and bright. And I wandered off the summit a bit to the south and climbed a little nodule and kinda just sat there and let the minutes roll on by, watching the cars zoom up and down the road, watching the clouds slowly drift across the sky, watching life take place, little by little, piece by piece. 

Jobs Head Plateau

Red Butte way out there

Windy Peak

South

And I lingered and lingered and pondered and sat around and then it was time to go and so I began to retrace my steps and a chunk of awful stupid brittle sandstone broke loose and I slid with it for an exhilarating 2 seconds and good thing it wasn't exposed 'cause if it was...oooh boy. And I wrapped around the false summit and moseyed on down that steep section, careful with the footing and whatnot, and then it was a very slow and careful butt-scoot down those terrible, awful, no-good, very bad, horrendous, stupid lousy downward facing sandstone slabs. But I made it just fine and I was back at the notch and I was looking down at the chute and I knew that once I made it past this, it was pretty dang easy walking the whole rest of the way.

Looking down the chute

And I carefully made my way down and from there on out it was a very straightforward jaunt back to the saddle. Not wanting the adventure to end so soon, I decided to check out the northern peak, a tall lookin' protuberance of pine and dirt and shrub and red sandstone rising just in front of me. And I scurried on up the thing, the going super steep but not very scrambly, and I eventually reached the breezy summit in a cough, spit and a burp. And I could see Jobs Head off to the south and I realized that it was by far the more interesting of the two, but hey—ain't nothing like some good ol' wanderin' to ease the mind and quell the spirits. I was satisfied with the detour, satisfied with the view. Ain't nothin' but a thing. And I stood there for a moment or two and soaked in the afternoon and then made my way back to the saddle and down the gully, slippin' and slidin' in the pine needles the whole way down.

Heading back down from the saddle...

Jobs Head

And I took a different route on my return, crashing through bushes and trompin' on slickrock and driftin' and roamin' and wanderin' wherever I pleased. And I'd turn around every now and then and give Jobs Head a salute or two; a show of gratification for being such a wonderful little mountain. And I continued along, found me a use trail, followed it for a bit, encountered more slickrock and sandstone, the pines nice and green, the breeze still kickin', the afternoon growing long, not a care in the world. 

And I made it back to the ol' vehicle at the ol' pullout and the adventure was over and the mystery as to why people visit this spot was still unresolved. They sure ain't going up to Jobs Head, that's for sure. I saw absolutely no sign of any recent human visitation up there. So where are these people going exactly? Who knows. Perhaps it shall remain a mystery until the end of time...

And I got in the car and drove a little ways up the road, my mind still curious, still hungry for aimless wandering. And I found me another pullout and I dropped into a little creek and bushwhacked for a brief minute and then found a nice animal trail breaking through the rocks and sticks and grass. And I followed this trail for a bit, hikin' underneath the shade of the pines, and then I left it at a random spot and scurried on over to Pocket Mesa, climbing up a noticeable class 2 ramp on its northwest side. 

The animal trail

Pocket Mesa

Windy Peak

And the summit of Pocket Mesa was covered in a blanket of manzanita; a noticeable highpoint nowhere to be found. So I wandered around for a bit, hoppin' through the manzanita, moving along, trying to find a view. And I saw some really old footprints in the dirt and I wondered who they belonged to and why their owners would want to climb up to such a weird, unassuming summit and then I thought "well why did I want to climb this weird, unassuming summit" and I couldn't answer my own silly question and I bet the owner of those footprints couldn't either. 

Pocket Mesa summit

And I found an animal trail and followed it for a little bit and took some photos of some pretty pink flowers and saw some views, all of them just alright. Yep. Don't see myself ever coming back to Pocket Mesa. But it fulfilled the urge for wandering and for that I was grateful. I said my goodbyes and made my way back, crossed the road, and then started climbing its next door neighbor: Windy Peak.

Heading up Windy Peak

Looking back at Pocket Mesa

Gotta love an aptly-named peak. 'Twas mighty windy indeed. Walking along, heading up a ridge of sorts, I had to secure my hat so that it wouldn't fly away into the blue infinity of the sky. And the going was steep but it was all rocks and sticks and grass and I took my time and the views started coming in, little by little. And then I saw the summit and it was covered in—you guessed it—a bunch of manzanita. That stuff sure likes to set up shop on the tops of mountains, that's for sure. 

Windy Peak summit

And it was a wee bitty little baby of a bushwhack through this manzanita, all of it waist-high or shorter. And I topped out on the brushy summit, took a photo of the golden benchmark, spun around, and then made for an open spot with tremendous views of the surrounding country. 

Jobs Head, Red Butte, Pine Valley Range

Southwest

Wind, light, clouds, green. Sandstone formations, sandstone mountains, sandstone hoodoos, sandstone canyons, sandstone cliffs. Emerald meadows. Dark forests. Rugged, rugged country, rugged rugged country as far as the eye could see. You'd think I'd be desensitized to it by now. I've been frequenting this area for the better part of two months, seeing the same sights and same views, just from slightly different angles. You'd think I'd get used to it. Accustomed to it. Habituated. Just an ordinary day in the backyard. No, no, no. It ain't like that at all. It's overwhelming. All of it. There's just so much going on. So much to see. So much to do. And the terrain is grand and wild and, like I've said many times before, completely incomprehensible. I never tire of these views. And I likely never will. 

But my eyes get physically tired of looking at 'em and I can't just stay up on a mountain for the rest of my life and so, reluctantly, I have to leave, hike on out of there, return to my vehicle, go back from whence I came. And it was no different on the summit of Windy Peak; I got up, dusted off my pants, and then walked back to the car.

But I still wasn't quite done yet. Still had some daylight, still had some time to grab one more lil' nubbin' before the day came to a close. And I already knew what it was I was gonna do. And I knew it was gonna suck, but, oh well. 

How delightful

What I'm talkin' about of course is the provincial "Goose Creek Knoll," a super short, super brushy little knob that sits just north of the West Rim Trailhead parking lot. And I drove on over there and parked and then immediately began the delightful bushwhack to the summit. Yep. Textbook bushwhack. Reminded me of the ol' Los Padres. Lots of crawlin'. Lots of poky bushes. Lots of dirt. Fun stuff, fun stuff. 

Goose Creek Knoll

And I broke on through and tore a hole in my pants and I emerged on the summit covered in scrapes and dirt and a strong conviction to never visit this spot ever again. Ain't no reason to climb this thing. Unless you love bushwhacking. In that case, have at it. 

North

South

And I probably spent no more than two minutes up there and then used gravity to my advantage and busted my way back, crashing through the brush like an angry bear. And I broke on through and jogged down the road for a bit back to the car, the whole endeavor taking just under 13 minutes but feeling much longer. And I drove on out of there, windows down, dust clouds billowing out the back of the car, the road bumpy, the road smooth, up and down, off to the KTR, the day finally finished, my hunger for wandering finally satiated. 

Got home, took a shower, cooked up some meatloaf, hit the sack. It had been a terrific afternoon; glad I made the effort to get out there and see the sights and whatnot. Jobs Head was by far the best excursion of the day. Definitely see myself going back there someday. As for the rest...they were...ehhh...alright. Not too good, not too bad.